


through the signing stones

by itsagamefortwo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Gen, Outlander AU, and ward is not a nice guy so pls dont expect it, rated for langue and vague references, there's very little will/jemma, this is literally an
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsagamefortwo/pseuds/itsagamefortwo
Summary: in 1970, while on holiday Jemma Simmons touches a standing stone and finds herself transported back to 1780 where a certain scot might change her life forever.it's an outlander au with a twist!“Better. Doesn’t hurt every time I breathe now,” he shrugged with his uninjured shoulder and turned his head to look at her. “‘m Leopold Fitz, by the way. Just Fitz is fine though.”“It’s nice to meet you Fitz,” she said quietly, unable to tear her eyes away from him.“You should get some sleep. Won't be there until at least tomorrow.”“I can’t. I– That was the second hit to the head I’ve taken today. Sleeping can be dangerous after something like that.” Jemma muttered.“I’ll keep an eye on ye, get some sleep.”
Relationships: Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie/Yo Yo Rodriguez, Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse, Leo Fitz & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 21
Kudos: 26





	1. i

People disappear all the time. They leave their homes in the middle of the night or in time for the first bus in the morning or straight after work and they just never come home again. Most are found, eventually. Disappearances, after all, have explanations... Usually.

Jemma had looked into it once, the statistics of missing people, just for something to do during her free hours at the university when waiting her turn in the labs. It wasn’t the most happy topic to look into and her friend Maria had laughed when she’d begun spouting facts for the next week. During her time researching it, Jemma had just never thought it would happen to her. That she would be a missing person. 

_ May 1970 _

There had been a time when all Jemma had wanted was a place to call home and somewhere to put the pale green ceramic vase she had bought at a carboot sale when she was eighteen and had been carrying with her ever since. From terrible flat to terrible flat. 

It had even made its way across the pond with her when she’d spent her years working with some of the supposed brightest minds in the world. (They might have been awfully clever but Jemma had never found any of them all that interesting, and she was sure the feeling was mutual). 

The vase was one of her most prized possessions and she had never really been able to explain  _ why _ . It was barely big enough to fit a half dozen flowers in and even then their stems had to be cut almost in half so they wouldn’t tip out. Some of the hand painted flowers that decorated the middle were faded, there was a chip missing from the lip and it was almost impossible to read the stamp on the base to tell when it had been made. Which probably meant it wasn’t anything all that expensive or rare. 

But Jemma had loved everything about it from the first moment she had seen it. 

Will had tried, the first time he’d asked about it, to understand why she loved it. But all he saw was an old vase, not the kitchen table it might one day get to sit on. Or the mantle place where it could be surrounded by family photos. Or even all the history it had probably seen. Jemma didn’t need him to understand though, she just needed him to accept it would have a place in their future home. Which he did, with very little questioning and that had been that.

She didn’t know where that vase was now. Hopefully packed safely away in one of the many boxes that were to be transported to their newly bought home in Houston next week, arriving the day before they were due back from their holiday. 

It had been Will’s idea, the holiday. A way to reconnect and start over. Secretly, a voice in the back of her mind had whispered about how they had only been together a year, what did they need to start over? Surely they were still at the beginning. But the tickets had been bought and a hotel had been arranged and the next thing Jemma knew she was stepping out of a car into the cool spring air of Scotland.

Breathing in the fresh air, Jemma felt tension leaving her shoulders that she hadn’t even realised were tense. Maybe this trip was exactly what they needed, a way to unwind and rediscover the world outside of restricted work and lost opportunities. Jemma didn’t think they had lost each other, but clearly Will had his worries and if he wanted to spend two weeks reconnecting in the beauty of the scottish highlands, she wasn’t about to complain.

“Is it always this cold?” Will’s grumbling brought her back to the present and she rolled her eyes at him good naturedly as she shut the door to the wardrobe. 

“It’s Scotland, in Spring, Will. Of course it’s going to be cold. Why do you think I said to pack extra jumpers, hm?” Half her own suitcase had been full of warm woolen jumpers and probably one too many scarves, but at least she would be warm. Hopefully. 

“Guess I was just hoping you were being over prepared,” he said it with a wide smile as he pushed their now empty suitcases under the double bed and straightened up to look at her. Jemma knew he was teasing her, that her many lists and precautions were sometimes a little too much. But it was better to be over prepared then caught in a sudden snowstorm with no hats, in her opinion. 

“So. What do you want to do now?” She raised an eyebrow at him suggestively from the opposite side of the bed, already pulling the pins out of her hair. 

“Ah, something that  _ I  _ came prepared for.”

✗✗✗

The woman at the front desk had said the best place for dinner was the local pub that doubled as a restaurant from 5pm to 10pm; which is how they found themselves sitting in a back corner of the local two days after they arrived. They were surrounded by the loud voices and over-velous laughter of people halfway to drunk and just enjoying each other's company. 

“I never understood when people talked about Scots and their drinking but I think I’m starting to get it,” Will muttered into his dinner as they listened to a group chatter at the table next to them, their table covered in empty glasses in contrast to their own stacked with plates.

“It’s no different than when you go out with people from the base. Well, not totally different. I think the beer here is probably better.” She almost laughed at the disappointed look on his face, but even Jemma knew there was no comparison to the watered down stuff they served in the states. 

“I was thinking tomorrow I might check out that archive Mrs Graham mentioned, by the old vicarage? I mentioned to Maria I would try and see if there was anything that might help her research,” Jemma said sometime later when their plates had been taken and they were left with nothing but their drinks. Will frowned down at his. 

“You might have to go alone, I got a telegram earlier asking me to call in tomorrow, something to do with the training protocols.” 

Ah, that explained the frown then. Jemma reached across the table to touch his hand, squeezing gently. The astronaut training protocols were the reason for all Will’s stress in the last few months, having suffered an injury due to one of them that had forced him to stop for several weeks. It had been a long few weeks for them both, the first real test of their relationship and sometimes, Jemma still wondered how they had survived it. With him flying into bouts of anger and rage at the smallest of things. He didn’t like to talk about it still, even now, eight months later, and she really hoped this wasn’t about to start another argument.

“What time will you need to call them?”

“Sometime in the afternoon I should think, with the time difference.” 

“I can go alone then, and we can have a lazy morning in bed, hm? We are on holiday after all. I think we deserve it, don’t you?” She smiled at him, feeling her shoulders relax when he turned his hand over and linked their fingers together, finally squeezing her hand back and smiling.

✗✗✗

Jemma left the hotel just after 1pm, the sun still high in the sky. Not that it made much difference with the cold wind that was blowing through the air and Jemma was glad she had opted for a warm jumper and trousers combo, a coat thrown on top. Halfway to the car she almost turned around to get a scarf, just in case, but decided against it. That would probably be a little over the top, she’d only be gone for a few hours and mostly inside at that. 

It was a forty minute drive to the vicarage that had been turned into the town's archives while the town hall was renovated and she was hoping it would hold some answers to the list of questions she had tucked into her bag. Hopefully whoever was in charge would let her make some copies of anything interesting she found. 

As she drove along a ring of standing stones up on a hill caught her eye from the way the sun got caught between two of them, setting the surrounding area into a multitude of colours and shadows. Jemma slowed the car, her eyes transfixed on the area until she came to a complete stop, not even realising she had pulled off the road into a small dirt path. Leaning forward on the steering wheel to get a better look out the front window Jemma tapped her fingers on the leather. She couldn’t say what it was about the standing stones that had caught her attention, all she knew was that she wanted a closer look. 

Shutting her car door, Jemma fastened her coat up to her chin, pushed her hands in her pockets and began to walk towards the hill following a well worn dirt path up. The stones were all taller than her, placed in an irregular circle with an even larger one in the middle. 

Things like this had always interested her. The planning it must have taken to move such large and heavy stones, to place them in specific spots for reasons that had long since been lost to them. It was a feat of engineering like the pyramids that didn’t get the same recognition. Walking between two of the stones until she was in the middle of the circle, Jemma looked around in wonder at the view of rolling hills and Inverness in the distance. 

It took her a moment to realise she could hear something buzzing, almost a ringing sound echoing through the clearing that wasn’t the wind. Turning in a circle she tried to figure out where it was coming from, but there didn’t seem to be anything around her that could be emitting the sound that wasn’t a rock. 

She paused her looking to step a little closer to the stone in the centre of the clearing, wondering if maybe it was some kind of hidden antenna or utility pole. Which seemed like a preposterous idea until the ringing seemed to intensify the closer she got. 

A small voice in the back of her mind said she should turn away, walk back to her car and never come back here.

A louder voice in her mind said she always liked to know the answer to a problem before it even became a problem. 

She stepped closer to the stone.

The ringing got louder, and Jemma frowned, head tilting to the side in confusion. There made no logical sense about a rock calling out to her, but that was exactly how it felt. She didn’t feel like she had any control over her own limbs as her legs brought her closer to the stone in front of her and her hand reached out for it. 

There was a moment, a split second – where her hand touched the cold rough surface of the stone, a shiver running through her body – when the ringing stopped. Complete silence falling over the clearing. And then it started again, louder, shriller, boring straight into her mind. Then everything went black.

✗✗✗

The grass was wet. It was the first thing Jemma realised when she came too, head hurting and ears still ringing. 

The second was that she was lying face down in the wet grass. 

The third thing she noticed was the grass was wet and it was soaking through her trousers and that the ringing had stopped. 

Squeezing her eyes shut tight, Jemma tried to assess if she had any injuries after she’d apparently fainted and taken a tumble, but aside from a ringing headache and feeling cold nothing else seemed to be amiss. Taking a deep breath she pushed herself up and over until she was sitting up, legs stretched out in front of her and finally opened her eyes. 

The sun was still in the sky, perhaps only a little lower then it had been by maybe an hour or so, if she was to hazard a guess. Not that it did anything to warm the cold ground or heat the breeze that blew her hair around her face. She pulled her coat tighter around her body and struggled to her feet. 

“Okay, okay. Back to the car,” she muttered, glancing around to find the worn path she had followed to get up to the clearing. Her eyebrows drew together upon spotting it, she could have sworn it didn’t look like that before, as though it was hardly used and new. But there was no other obvious path so that must be the one. Stumbling forwards, one arm wrapped protectively around her middle while the other was stuffed deep in her pockets, Jemma’s confusion only grew when she got to the bottom of the hill. 

Where there had been a road only a few hours before there was nothing but grass and what looked like cart tracks. Turning in a slow circle, trying to keep her panic at bay, Jemma decided she must have just come down the wrong side of the hill, that her head was still foggy and she’d merly taken the wrong path. If she just walked around the base she was sure to come across the road in no time. 

Not really knowing which way would be quicker Jemma turned to her left and started walking on the bases that there seemed to be less trees in that direction. She decided she had maybe made the wrong choice when she started to hear running water in the distance, pretty sure there hadn’t been a stream anywhere near the road or her car. She couldn’t quite keep back the feeling of panic that began to bubble up now. 

It was starting to get darker and colder, and Jemma was sure she had a concussion and that sleeping curled up next to a tree on the ground wasn’t going to help her, but that walking around and around in the dark wasn’t going to help either. Stumbling, she leaned against a tree to steady herself and tried to get her breathing back under control. 

This was fine, everything was going to be fine. She just needed to stay calm and breathe. 

Once her heart slowed down to a somewhat normal beat Jemma straightened up against the tree and looked around. There was no point walking back the way she had come, and she wasn’t even sure where the stones were anymore so she couldn’t go back there. The stream had to connect with a river somewhere further down surely, so following that would have to do. With a plan in mind she pushed herself away from the tree and began walking again, her steps a little more sure. 

It was only a few minutes before she stood at the edge of the stream, cold water rushing by without a care in the world, splashing at the bottom of her trousers and boots. The stream was shallow and Jemma was pretty sure she could step across it without any issue should she need to. Pushing her hands into her coat pockets Jemma began following the stream, hoping it wouldn’t take her too long to walk to the nearest town and that people wouldn’t find her to stupid for getting so easily lost. 

There was a man kneeling on the opposite side of the stream watching her. Jemma wouldn’t have noticed him, so locked up in her own thoughts as she was, if he hadn’t stood up so suddenly it caused small stones to topple into the water next to him. 

“Oh!” Was the first thing to come out of her mouth, relief quickly flooding her body at the sight of another person and one hand leaving her pocket to rest on her chest. “Thank god. I must have gotten myself turned around. I’m trying to get back to Inverness, can you help me?” 

The man just stared at her, head tilted to side and eyes looking her over. Later, Jemma would blame her still hurting head and exhaustion on how long it took her to realise something was very wrong. In two quick strides the man stood on her side of the stream wearing a waistcoat unbuttoned over a white shirt and the strangest trousers she had ever seen. 

“What is your name?” He spoke with an English accent but there was something off about it that she couldn’t put her finger on. Something was wrong here.

“I–” she paused, her tired mind trying to catch up with the rest of her on edge body. “Jemma. Jemma Simmons.” 

“Well Miss Simmons, pray tell, what do you think you are doing out here all alone. Dressed… like that,” he gestured at her body, lip curling in what she assumed was disgust or horror. It was hard to tell. 

“I told you, I’ve gotten turned around and lost. I just– I need directions back to the road, is all. My– my finance will be missing me,” it was only a slight lie. While Will wasn’t exactly her fiance he would be missing her, she’d said she wouldn’t be long after all. The man continued to regard her in silence and Jemma felt herself start to fidget, not at all liking the way his eyes kept skimming over her legs or resting on her coat. “Who are you?” 

“Captain Grant Ward, of his majesty's army.” He stepped closer to her and it took all Jemma’s will power not to start shaking. An idea was starting to form in her head – and while all logic pointed to it being impossible, the truth was quite literally staring at her with a red coat draped over a rock. “You’re a long way from Inverness, Miss Simmons.”

There was an accusation somewhere in his words that she couldn’t understand or decipher, and even attempting to was put on hold as he took another step forward until he was mere inches away. One his hands reached out to grip the top of her arm while his other went to her face, cupping her cheek almost gently before it slipped into her hair and gripped hard, pulling her head backwards. Jemma let out a startled gasp, trying to pull away only to wince in pain. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing! Get off me!” She tried to pull his hand away, but Ward only held tighter, pulling her closer so he could look in her eyes. 

“This is no place for a lady to be all alone.” 

Jemma felt as if she was watching the scene unfold from a bystanders point of view. It suddenly seemed so obvious what was about to happen and how there was nothing she could do to stop it no matter how she struggled, his hold on her arm and hair was too strong. She opened her mouth to scream, shout, swear, when he let go of her arm and clamped it over her mouth instead, pushing her backwards until she felt the hard bark of a tree through her coat. She was just wondering how far she could get if she kicked him between the legs when suddenly his hand was out of her hair and off her mouth and Grant Ward was falling to the ground, another man standing over him holding a gun upside down. It took her a moment to realise he had hit Ward over the head with it. 

Eyes opening wide, Jemma opened her mouth to say something, though she honestly had no idea what it would be when he beat her to it, holding out a hand to her with urgency in his voice. 

“Come on, we got to go! Quickly! Come on!” And didn’t wait for her response, grabbing her hand and pulling her along, through the stream and up a small hill till they were hidden behind a large tree. It was as she stood panting, hand clutching her side, that she finally heard voices shouting in the distance and sounds that she could swear were gunshots. 

“Wha–” she started, but her spontaneous saviour clamped a hand over her mouth, pulling her flush against his chest and shushing her. Jemma struggled in his hold, not liking that this was the second time in one day she had been held against her will. 

“Would you stop that!” The man whispered harshly in her ear, but all it did was make her struggle more. Panic surging through her wildly, wanting to be anywhere but here. “For the love of–” 

Jemma never heard what he was going to say, instead she felt a sharp pain to her temple before everything went dark. 

✗✗✗

When she woke up – for the third time in 24 hours – Jemma knew that if she hadn’t had a concussion before, she was most certainly going to have one now. She opened her eyes slowly, hoping to ease into the pain radiating from her temple outwards and the dizziness she could already feel setting in. 

The first thing she noticed was that the room was warm, a fire crackling away a short distance from the chair she found herself propped up in. 

The second thing she noticed was that the only light in the room was coming from said fire and a couple of candles dotted around on overturned crates and a single table that looked half burnt. 

The third thing she noticed was that the soft sound of voices that had woken her up had stopped, and several pairs of eyes were now looking in her direction. 

Jemma closed her eyes tight again, pushing herself up (what she had first thought was a chair turned out to be two hay bales pushed together against a wall, and she could already feel her legs getting itchy) with a groan. Her whole body ached and she was starting to think the ludicrous idea she’d first had by the stream might indeed be true. 

“Good, you’re up. We’ve got some questions for ye.” A man stepped forward from the cluster of people, and the second time she opened her eyes Jemma could make out at least five of them, standing around someone who was sitting on a stool, including the man who had rudely knocked her out. She shuffled back on her hay bale chair as the man stepped towards her, crouching down so they were eye to eye and Jemma was startled by the small smile on his face. If this was some type of trick into making her feel calm it was largely backfiring. 

“My name is Phil Coulson. What’s yours?” It was such a simple question, asked in such a nice and simple way that Jemma froze. Eyes scanning his face for any sign of the anger and disgust she had seen in Wards. But all she got was curiosity and maybe a little distrust. 

“Jemma Simmons. Where–” She stopped herself, glancing around at the other people in the room, her heart beating wildly even as she noticed there was another woman standing among them. Swallowing she turned her attention back to Phil. “Where am I?” 

“Abandoned farm near Leachkin,” he gave her a few seconds to let that information sink in before continuing, his eyes never leaving her face and Jemma was fairly certain he was trying to figure something out. “Hunter says he found you near the river with a certain Captain, looking in distress.” 

There wasn’t a question in his words but Jemma got the sense she was meant to confirm or deny the apparent accusation. 

“I got lost, in the woods, and I stumbled upon him by the river. Asked him for help. He attacked me instead. And then you’re man over there, Hunter, was it?” She waved vaguely in the direction of the other people, all eyes momentarily leaving her to look at the man in question who gave a wide smile in turn. “He appeared out of nowhere, knocked that man, Ward, out and then pulled me away. And then he proceeded to knock  _ me  _ out and now I’m here.” She hadn’t meant for her voice to get so loud or for the anger she was feeling to seep into her words, but judging by the looks of amusement she caught on the others faces, and the slight gleam in Phils eyes, she would guess she’d failed at that. 

“Well, Hunters’ never been one to make a good first impression.” The man who spoke gave a low chuckle, the soft burr of his accent contrasting with Phil’s more pronounced one, nudging Hunter with his elbow in what looked like a familiar gesture, Jemma watched him grumbled something under his breath that made the rest of them laugh too. 

“Okay then,” Phil said, standing up and clapping his hands together. Jemma watched him cautiously as he held out a hand to help her up and hesitated for a moment before accepting it. She wobbled a little, a hand going to head as the room spun while Phil steadied her and waited until she lowered her arm and gave a small nod before letting out. “We need to get going. No telling how far behind us those men were and I don’t want to get caught out here, not enough places to hide. We can bring ye with us, get you back to wherever you were going soon enough.” 

“Oh, thank you, that would be… thank you.” Her mind was whirling with thoughts and possibilities, already calculating how long she had been gone and how long it would take to get back and who  _ exactly  _ they were running from. Not to mention how exactly had she won their trust so easily? But before she could think more on it Phil spoke again. 

“We canne do anything about your,” he gestured at her, encompassing her clothes, and Jemma felt annoyance burning under her skin, “get up, right now. So we’ll have tae hope we don’t encounter anyone on the road, aye?”

“What the hell do my clothes have to do with anything! Honestly, it’s not as if I’m walking around naked! Everything is perfectly covered,” she huffed out in indignation, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Oh I like her, Phil,” the blonde one said, a wide smile on her face as she let out a laugh and Jemma felt her cheeks burn but held her head steady, refusing to be ashamed for what she’d said. “I’m Barbra. You’ve met Hunter, and this is Alphonso Mackensize,” the woman, Barbra, gestured to the two men standing next to her and Jemma gave a small nod of greeting to them. 

“Call me Mack, only my mother calls me Alphonso and even then, only when I’ve not written in a while.” His voice was deep and even though he was perhaps one of the tallest men she’d met, there was something kind about his smile, and it was almost enough to make her forget the sharp looking knife tucked into his belt or the gun loped over his shoulder. 

While Barbra had been introducing her to her – captors? Saviours? Jemma wasn’t sure what to call them yet – fellow room occupants, Phil had moved to talk to the man sat hunched over on the stool. They talked quietly for a few moments, a half shrug started only to be paused in a hiss of pain. 

“We need to get his arm strapped up, they’ll be someone at Freasdal who can set it properly,” Phil declared as he stood up, Hunter and Barbra already moving towards him with frowns on their faces.

“What happened?” The words were out of Jemma’s mouth before she could stop them, already taking a half step towards the injured man. Her medical training was limited, she’d taken a few first aid courses over the years and most of her knowledge came from research and no real practical experience. But she was a biochemist, biology and the body was her thing. And she’d never really been able to turn away if someone needed help. 

“Fell off his horse, his shoulders dislocated we think.” It didn’t take a genius to realise they were omitting a lot of the story but a dislocated shoulder she could at least fix. It simply a matter of forces and pressure and correct angles. 

“I can– I can set it for him.” She hesitated for a moment before finishing her sentence more firmly and holding Phil’s gaze. 

“You’re a healer then?” He asked, head tilted in curiosity. 

“Something like that, yes. May I?” Jemma gestured to the man, waiting for Phil’s small nod before walking forwards and stopping just short of him. He looked up at her then, and Jemma sucked in a shallow breath at the intensity in his blue eyes. There was a grimace of pain on his lips as he attempted to straighten up, left arm resting limply in his lap and she knew exactly the steps needed to fix it. It was going to hurt a lot. “Hello, can I–” she raised her hands hovering over his arm and shoulder, waiting for him to give a short nod.

Biting her lip, Jemma carefully examined his exposed shoulder with gentle touches, hyper aware of everyone watching her movements, as if waiting for her to do something wrong or extreme. 

“You’re going to need to lie down,” she said after a few moments, pointing towards the hay bales she’d woken up on. “And we’ll need something to use as a sling too.” He simply gave a grunt in response, getting to his feet slowly, the bales both laying flat thanks to Mack by the time he’d made his way there and lowering himself down. “This is going to hurt. A lot.” 

He just gave her another grunt and Jemma had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at him. Honestly, he might have been in pain but would it kill him to respond with words? Stepping closer to him, she gently lifted his left arm and pulled it out straight, biting her lip as he let out a hiss of pain, squeezing his eyes shut. It took a while, pulling carefully upwards while rotating at the same time until his arm was up above his head and she began to bend it at the elbow, lowering it back across his chest and securing it with the belt and cloth someone handed to her. The man let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief as she tied the final knot and helped him sit up. 

“Thank ye,” he said, blinking his eyes open at her and letting a small smile tug at his lips. Jemma simply nodded back at him, not sure quite what to say now she stood so close to him without anything to do with her hands. The way he was looking at her felt as if he could see all her secrets laid bare. 

“Ye canne ride with your arm like that, we’ll put the two of ye in the cart. There should be enough room,” even as he said it, Phil looked a little doubtful but no one seemed ready to argue about it and Jemma didn’t know enough of the situation to attempt it. 

There was a flurry of movement then, Mack and Barbra picking up weapons while Hunter began putting out the fire and Phil doused the candles. Her new found patient began ushering her outside and Jemma stood in dismay at the sight of three saddled horses and a small covered cart attached to a fourth. It was full dark now, clouds blocking out the stars and the moon, and she tugged her coat tighter around her body as rain began to soak through. Hunter stood next to her, gave her a helping hand up into the back of the cart followed by the other man before replacing the burlap bags that had been moved to make room for them. 

Jemma shivered as the cart lurched forward, the sound of hoofbeats, one squeaky wheel and the breathing of the man next to her filled the cold air. 

“Here,” a voice next to her grumbled, draping a well worn blanket over her legs and pulling it to rest by her clasped hands. Jemma glanced over at him, teeth chattering. “Ye making the whole cart rock more than the damn wonky wheel.” 

“Th-thank you,” she managed to get out, pulling the blanket a little higher and shifting so her legs were better covered. She had to stop herself from inching closer to him, wondering how he could be so warm when she was freezing, especially from the way his damp shirt clung to his chest and arms and the curls in his hair still dripped down his face. “H-how’s your arm feeling?” She needed to stay awake and talking seemed like the best way. 

“Better. Doesn’t hurt every time I breathe now,” he shrugged with his uninjured shoulder and turned his head to look at her. “‘m Leopold Fitz, by the way. Just Fitz is fine though.” 

“It’s nice to meet you Fitz,” she said quietly, unable to tear her eyes away from him. 

“You should get some sleep. Won't be there until at least tomorrow.” 

“I can’t. I– That was the second hit to the head I’ve taken today. Sleeping can be dangerous after something like that.” Jemma muttered, finally breaking eye contact as everything that had happened in the last twelve hours came back to her and when she shivered again it wasn’t due to the cold. From the corner of her eye she saw Fitz clench his jaw before letting out a breath. 

“I’ll keep an eye on ye, get some sleep.” 

Perhaps if she hadn't been so tired she would have put up more of a fight on the matter, but as it was she could barely keep her eyes open to give him a small muttered ‘okay’ before drifting off into a fitful sleep. Dreams filled with mocking stones and faceless men chasing her through the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! okay so i'mma be honest right. this started because i was thinking about how fitz didn't get a kilt for a his wedding, and then i was thinking about jamie fraser, and then i was thinking about fitz calling jemma sassenach when she annoys him and well. here we are. 
> 
> there'll be a few more chapters and the rest of the gang will show up. 
> 
> anyway!!!  
> i hope you're all staying safe in these hard times.  
> 


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i am taking full creative license with historical inventions btw  
> also, it's an outlander au but i'm taking a slight plot detour so its not a straight retelling.

It was daylight when she woke up, a cool breeze blowing through the gaps in the carts coverings and she pulled the blanket a little closer around her body to block out the chill. Opening her eyes slowly it took her a moment to realise what had woken her in the first place, the cart had stopped moving and Fitz was shaking her shoulder carefully. 

“Hm?” She yawned, rubbing sleep from her eyes and squinting at him. She hadn’t noticed last night but he had a scruffy looking beard covering his face and the beginnings of a tan starting to take colour on his skin. She wondered if he did a lot of work outside? His eyes were an even more startling blue in daylight then they had been in fire light, and there was an intensity in the way he stared at her that had Jemma swallowing thickly as she dropped his gaze when he gestured for her to follow him out.

“We’re 'ere, come on.” 

Her body ached as she shuffled towards the edge of the cart still clutching the blanket close to her chest, letting her legs dangle in the open air for a moment while she got her bearings and took in her new surroundings. They had arrived at a village at the base of a castle that Jemma had visited the previous week in it’s ruined form – in her own time. 

_Own time_. She closed her eyes against the bright sunlight and took in a shallow breath as she let the thought wash over her. There was no use in the denying the obvious now. Somehow, against all logic and scientific reason she had ended up in the past. The strange clothes she could have chalked up to some dramatic reenactment, even the way they spoke could be actors invested in their characters. But as they had traveled through the night, Fitz waking her occasionally as she had instructed, she hadn’t spotted a single light in the distances and their cart hadn’t hit smooth tarmac once. Not to mention the smell. Her imagination was not creative enough to make that up.

If she thought too long about all that this implied her head started to hurt again and she had to squeeze her eyes shut and clench her fists tight in her lap. She needed to find somewhere private to sit, to think it all through and to work out a plan. She was good at planning and preparation Once she had a plan and some answers, Jemma would feel much better about the situation. All she had to do was find a way to ditch her traveling companions. 

As if summoned by her thoughts Phil Coulson rounded the side of the cart and stood in front of her, offering her a hand down. She paused a second before accepting it. 

“Barbra’s goin' to take you to the house, get you cleaned up and somethin' to wear,” he kept hold her of hand as she steadied herself and tried to avoid the looks passersby were giving her, choosing to focus solely on Phil, opening her mouth to reply when he beat her to it, “And then we’ll see 'bout getting ye back to where ye came from.” 

In her mind Jemma knew he meant Inverness but she had to school her features and stop her hands from shaking as she pictured the standing stones on a hill, sunlight blinding her and a sound ringing in her ears. 

Would she even be able to _get back_ the way she had come? 

The thought struck her out of nowhere and she found herself curling an arm around her middle to hold herself together and her breathing becoming slightly erratic. It hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder about it. What if this was a one way trip she had accidentally taken and there was no chance to return? 

She would never see Will again. Never see her friends, her family. Her research would be left abandoned at her work station until bloody Milton had waited the appropriate amount of time to claim it as his own and steal all her hard work for himself. The cheek of it. No. She would find a way back. If the stones could somehow move her back in time they could bloody well move her forward again. 

All these thoughts spun around in her head as Barbra led her down a dirt road and up the steps to a semi-detached stone townhouse that appeared a better quality built then many of those around them. It wasn’t until she was standing in front of a roaring fire, a copper bathtub with steaming water in front of her and a hand waving in in front of her eyes that Jemma realised she hadn’t heard a word the other woman had been saying for the last several minutes, or even recount how she had gotten into this room.

“I’m sorry, I was- my mind was elsewhere. What were you saying?” God she hoped it wasn’t something important. But Barbra just looked at her with a tilt to her head and a smile that Jemma was going to say was kind, rather than amused. 

“I was saying I’ll leave you to get undressed and bathe. I’ve left you some clothes over there,” she pointed to a chair where a lot of fabric had been draped over the back and Jemma tried not to balance at it. “Call if you need any help.” 

And then Jemma was alone in the room, alone really for the first time in what she was estimated was over twenty-four hours. It wasn’t until she was peeling off her trousers and leaving them on the floor beside her discarded boots that Jemma finally looked around the room she’d been left in. A single bed pushed against the wall opposite the window, a table and chair cluttered with paper and ink and small glass bottles of things she didn’t recognise. It was small but warm and she idly wondered if it was perhaps Barbra’s room and if there would be any clues to the year she was in. 

All thoughts of investigating were pushed to the back of her head as she carefully tested the water with one hand, not realising just how much she was craving a bath until right this second.

Sinking into the water Jemma had to bite her lip to stop a moan from leaving her mouth as her body was enveloped in warmth and sore muscles began to relax a little. If she hadn’t been in a foreign place, in a strange time, surrounded by strangers she wasn’t sure she could trust, Jemma might have considered just staying there for hours until every ache in her tired body had faded into nothing. 

Dunking her head under the water and carding some flower scented soap through her hair felt like heaven and she silently vowed, when she made it back home she would never again take running water for granted.

Eventually she pulled herself out of the water, wrapping a soft cotton towel around herself as she stepped out of the tub and shivered as the cool air hit her skin. Carefully, trying not to drip water all over the floor, Jemma picked through the collection of clothes that Barbra had left for her and it wasn’t until she picked up a corset that she began to realise it was all  _ one _ outfit. 

“Christ,” she muttered, trying to work out what exactly she was meant to put on first. There was definitely no underwear in this pile of fabric and she really wished she had paid more attention when Maria had gone off on fashion rants. Securing her towel more firmly around her body and pushing her wet hair over her shoulder Jemma started laying each item out on the bed, hoping that might help her figure it out. If her own clothes hadn’t been damp and covered in mud she might have just put them back on.

“Okay, you have a damn pHD Simmons, you can work out how to get dressed.” Talking to yourself was meant to be a sign of madness, she was sure she’d read that somewhere once, but given everything else that had happened to her Jemma couldn’t be sure she wasn’t already losing the plot anyway. Biting her lip she picked up a thin white cotton dress and pulled it over her head, letting the towel drop and straightening out the skirt that came up to well below her knee.

It was at this point that her frown deepened as her eyes tracked over the rest of the clothes, wondering if they belonged to Barbra. She was much shorter – not to emotion a smaller chest – than the blonde woman, there was a good chance her clothes were not going to fit her. But if her companions had been scandalised by her wearing  _ trousers  _ she couldn’t imagine what they’d do if she went out just wearing this. Imagining their shocked faces was enough to make her smile though as she picked up the corset and something that she was sixty percent sure was an underskirt. Dropping the underskirt – or was it a petticoat? She’d never learnt the difference – and decided to tackle the corset first. 

“God… oh fucking hell how–” She had it wrapped around her middle but suddenly found herself unsure of how exactly she was meant to tighten the damn thing. Holding it in place under her breasts with one hand she walked over the small cracked mirror, stood on the table, and tried to turn her body to see her back. Maybe she could try lacing it up while off her body and slip it over her head? Could she turn it around, lace it up and then somehow turn it back? Jemma frowned at her own reflection. 

There was a knock on the door while she had her fingers tangled in lacing and a steady stream of cursing was leaving her lips. 

“I came to see if you– _Oh_. Need some help.” Barbra was biting her lip as she poked her head around the door and took in the sight before her, clearly trying to hide her amusement. “I should have left you some stays that laced in the front, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no it’s– it’s not your fault. I’m just...not used to doing it alone.” Or at all, but Jemma really didn’t want to get into the conversation that might cause. Barbra’s fingers made quick work of tightening the laces comfortably at the back and tying them off and then helped her into the petticoat – she’d called it such, which meant Jemma had gotten at least that bit right and was happy to award herself a mental pat on the back. When Barbra came over with the stockings, Jemma took them from her and pulled them over her own legs. 

“Probably best to keep your own...shoes,” the blonde said with a nod towards where Jemma had left her boots and she had to stop herself letting out a relieved sigh. At least her feet would be comfortable. 

After lacing up her boots Barbra came over with the last piece of the outfit. The dress. She helped to slip the skirt of the dress over her head and down her body. It felt strange, wearing so many layers of clothes when there wasn’t an impending snow storm. Or costume party. The fabric was soft beneath her fingers, but felt like something sturdier and warmer than cotton – wool perhaps? – and a dark blue in colour, the sleeves stopping just past her elbows while the skirts fell straight to the floor. A glance at Barbra’s own dress said her worries earlier had been correct, it was too long for her. 

“Thank you, for letting me borrow your clothes, Barbra.” Even if they were too big it only seemed polite to thank her. 

“Sit down, I’ll brush your hair.” 

Jemma didn’t see she had any say in the matter so did as she was told, finding it only a little difficult to move around with the skirts. Gentle hands in her hair, pulling out the knots that had formed in the water was almost enough to ease the stress she’d felt over getting dressed. 

“I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to answer it truthfully,” Barbra said as she began to brush through her hair, eyes on her task though Jemma got the feeling she was watching every move she made. 

“Okay,” Jemma said carefully, resisting the urge to straighten her spine a little more. She got the feeling whatever she said now could impact how the rest of her short stay here would play out.

“The man at the river, had you ever met him before?” Blue eyes looked at her through the mirror and while Jemma didn’t know what the connection was between these people and that man, her instincts said it wasn’t friendly. 

“No. Never,” she gave her head a small shake, wincing as she remembered Barbra was still brushing it. The other woman opened her mouth, probably with some follow up question but Jemma beat her to it. “If you’re going to ask how I knew his name it’s because I asked him, before he attacked me. All I know about him is his name and that if I see him again I’ll be sorely tempted to hit him with something.” She meant to only think the last part but the words left her mouth anyway. 

Barbra didn’t say anything but it was hard to miss the smile that pulled up her lips. As the other woman finished brushing her hair and twisted it into some kind of updo with more pins than Jemma had ever owned, she twisted her fingers in her lap unsure what to do with her sudden anxieties. 

“There we go. Come on, lunch should be ready by now,” she put the brush down and started towards the door only pausing when she noticed Jemma hadn’t moved yet. “You’ve probably got some questions for us as well, we can discuss them over lunch.” 

Well, she did have a lot of questions. Not all of them she could ask out loud though. But at the mention of lunch her stomach came to life, as if suddenly remembering it hadn’t eaten since the day before and was angry about the situation. 

“Lunch sounds good,” she stood up carefully, letting her skirts fall to the floor fully before carefully lifting from the middle so she wouldn’t trip. 

“Oh, and you can call me Bobbi. I’ve never liked Barbra very much,” the blonde wrinkled her nose at the name and Jemma couldn’t help but smile. She must have given the correct answer if she was being given lunch and allowed to call her by a nickname. Right?

✗✗✗

Sitting at the dining table, a plate of food in front of her, Jemma realised several things. 

First, it wasn’t lunch time in the slightest, having spent a lot longer washing and getting dressed then she’d realised. 

Second, there was a severe lack of anything  _ green  _ on her plate and for the first time in years she wasn’t going to complain she was that hungry. 

Third, her dining companions were watching her closely, though for what, she didn't know.

Fourth, she’d noticed some kind of cake on the side table that she was very interested in trying. 

“There’s a man that comes to the castle at the end of each month who stops by Inverness on his way back home. He owes me a favour or two so we’ll arrange for passage for you,” Phil was saying, his plate already empty and pushed to the side. 

“And when, exactly is he due?” She asked slowly, not wanting to let her hopes grow too much or her mind race at the plans she’d have to start making.

“He’s due on the 27th,” Mack said from his place across from her. The other man had come in half way through the meal, whispered something in Coulson's ear and then sat down in the seat next to him to eat. Jemma didn’t know where the other two men were and didn’t know how to ask, or even why she wanted to know. Though she supposed she had tended to one of them which technically made him her patient. 

“Right,” she frowned at her plate, trying to work out when exactly the 27th  _ was _ . I t had been the 10th in her own time which would make it the 12th now, would it be safe to assume it was the 12th here too, now? “I’m sorry. I seem to have gotten all muddled up with the uh woods and getting lost and– and that man and everything yesterday. How long till the 27th?” 

“Two weeks time.” If Mack found it strange that she didn’t know the date he didn’t let on. Neither did Coulson or Bobbi from her seat beside her. 

“Of course you’re welcome tae stay here until then, we have plenty of room.” 

_Two weeks_. Two weeks and she would be on her way back to Inverness and the stones, on her way back to her own time and her work. Back before Milton could even _think_ about touching anything on her desk. And Will, too of course. Will, who would probably be out of his mind with worry. When she smiled at them all it wasn’t forced or fake. 

“Thank you, so much. I– I don’t know what I would have done without all your help. If there is anything I can do to repay your kindness while I’m here please let me know,” Jemma directed her words at Coulson, who seemed to be the obvious man in charge. “And if I may ask; I mean, Barb– sorry, Bobbi, she um she said if I had any questions I could ask them now. And it’s just I was merely wondering what exactly is your relation to Captain Ward? And why you were all in the woods as well.” 

A tense sort of silence fell over the three of them as they seemed to have some silent conversation with only their eyes and eyebrows and pursed lips. Jemma bit her lip, wondering if perhaps she had pushed their hospitality too far and now they were taking back their offer of shelter and sending her to some castle dungeon to rot. They seemed to come to some sort of decision judging by the way Coulson let out a loud sigh and lent forwards on the table. 

“A friend of ours ken Captain Ward and suspected him of...shall we say, illegal activities. Things that would affect all of us here. We’d gotten word he was supposed to be meeting someone yesterday, which is why we were in the woods. We think you might have disrupted the meeting.” 

Jemma let these words settle over her, she got the feeling there was more to the story than just suspecting him of being a crooked member of the army, but they didn’t know her. The fact they’d trusted her with that much information probably meant they didn’t think she was working with the Captain, thank god. But it didn't mean they _trusted_ her. 

It didn’t mean she wasn’t intrigued by it though. She had never liked not knowing something, it’s why mystery novels caused her so much frustration every time she read one. And why she had gone into the sciences in the first place. But she had bigger things to worry about then these Scots and their intriguing mystery. She had two weeks to make a plan about how to get home. So Jemma dipped her head in a nod and gave them a small smile before continuing to eat, they didn't need to share all their secrets with her, she wasn't sharing her own with them after all.

✗✗✗

The next morning – after spending a frustrating half an hour getting dressed and doing her hair – Jemma systematically went through the contents of her coat pockets. One small note book, a ballpoint pen, a half packet of chewing gum, a full pack of paracetamol, one small tub of hand cream and £4.38 in change. She lay it all out on the table and frowned. The money would be useless unless she could find a way to melt it down, perhaps have it made into some kind of jewellery and sell it off, that’s what people did now wasn’t it? 

At least the paracetamol and the chewing gum could be useful, if a little hard to explain. She’d found a small cloth bag pushed to the back of one of the side tables drawers, it had a string at the top to close it and would just fit into the pocket of her dress. She put the chewing gum, painkillers and hand cream in the bag, hesitated a moment before collecting the coins and adding them in too. Better to keep everything together then leave it out for someone to find. After a seconds thought she pulled the chewing gum back out and carefully tore one of the strips in half and popped it in her mouth. It was better than no toothpaste at all. 

She opened the notebook to a clean page and began to start making a plan for the next two weeks. As she wrote, Jemma couldn’t help but miss all her little note cards and multicoloured pens back in her office, thinking of all the ways she could utilise them right now. If there was ever a time for a colour coordinated plan, this would be it. But she would make do with a single black pen and notepad. 

Step one: keep a low profile for the next two weeks, help where she could but not going out of her way. She didn’t need to be remembered by these people after all. 

Step two, part a: acquire supplies for her trip back to the Inverness and subsequent trip back to the stones. 

Step two, part b: inquire about how long it will take to get to Inverness and the stones. 

Step three: travel home. 

Tapping her pen on her bottom lip Jemma tried to think if there was anything else she would need to do, or avoid doing. Looking at her list now it all seemed very simple. She would just need to keep a low profile until she could leave, surely she could do that without problem. 

✗✗✗

After a quiet lunch with Bobbi she was left to her own devices – she had asked where Bobbi would be going but had received a vague answer about duties and mushrooms. Given free reign of the house and if she wanted to venture further to find someone called Davis in the kitchen who happily accompany her around the village. But as much as she wanted to explore where and when she was it wouldn’t help her to keep a low profile, something told her that a strange English woman wandering around would draw attention. 

So she set to exploring the house. 

From what she could tell the upstairs was just a collection of bedrooms, and from peeking in one room it appeared to be much the same as the room she’d been given. A bed, a table, a chair, a wardrobe and a small chest of drawers. She looked around three more doors before concluding they were all the same, some a little more messy than others. As she made her way down the stairs Jemma started to wonder, not for the first time, who these people were and what they did. Her knowledge of this time period wasn’t exactly extensive but she was fairly certain only those with a lot of money could afford a house as big as this. And as well decorated.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, all she had seen of the ground floor was the dining room and judging by the sounds and smells coming from further down the hall that would lead to the kitchen. There were at least two doors she hadn’t been through and when she opened the first one Jemma let out a small breath of wonder. It was a library, or perhaps it was supposed to be a study, but three walls were covered in bookcases, piles of books were on every available surface, stacks were littering the ground and if you’d wanted to use the desk you’d have to find room for the piles of books scattered across the surface to. 

There were some titles she recognises, fictional and non-fiction, guides on plants and atlas', complete collections of poetry and guides to the stars. Her fingers traced over the spines, head tilted to the side as she read the names of authors. Some of these were probably first additions she realised. Fingers itching to reach out, if only to simply touch them and know they were real. Brand new and would be worth hundreds of pounds in a couple of years, these were the kind of books she poured over in libraries and searched for in second hand shops. If she could take anything away from this little misadventure of hers it would be the joy of standing in this room, with these books.

She turned slowly in a circle, just taking in the room around her, breathing in the smell of paper and ink, not even trying to keep the giddy smile off her face. Side stepping a pile of books on the floor Jemma carefully made her way over the desk, peering at the books strewn carelessly about. There was a book open on the desk, someone had been looking up the uses of steam engines. But it was the newspaper next to the book that caught her attention and the date stamped at the top. 

_ May 12th 1786.  _

1786\. Jemma leant heavily on the table as she allowed the information to settle over her. Suddenly her excitement at the books felt like lead in her stomach.

The 18th century. Some doctors still believed in the bloody four humours as a treatment plan! The American revolution was still on going, for gods sake. One of Georges' was on the throne. She was pretty sure at least. Maybe the third? The Fourth? They were past the Scottish uprisings, she knew that much. Her and Will had been to a monument about the battle of Culloden and she could clearly picture the engraved 1745 on the stone.

“1786,” she whispered it, hoping that hearing the year out loud would help to make it seem real. She had accepted that – somehow, despite  _ all  _ logic and science – she was in the past, but seeing it in black and white really made it real. Her eyes stared unseeing at the news paper as her mind tried to reel itself back in, to accept everything that was happening.

A creaking door broke her out of her spiralling thoughts and had her turning towards the back corner of the room, blinking quickly. One of the bookcases was swaying. Jemma blinked again, but it kept moving in a draught. 

A secret door? Now that was interesting. Glancing around herself once, to check there was no one else around, Jemma made her way slowly towards the bookcase, the doorway becoming more apparent the closer she got. Now why did they have a secret door hiding a hidden staircase? 

Her boyfriend while at university had once said that her need to know the answer to every question, to be  _ right  _ all the time , was annoying and had broken up with her. Her first roommate in the states had constantly complained about her bringing 'boring books into the apartment'. Even Will had occasionally made comments about it, asked her to ‘tone it down a little’ while out with his friends. 

But Jemma had never found anything wrong with her quest to answer all life's questions. 

Until she found herself walking down a stone staircase in almost complete darkness. 

This, she was willing to admit, might not have been her smartest decision. 

A loud bang echoed through the darkness followed by the sound of someone swearing and making her jump. Jemma tilted her head to the side, trying to pick up on how many voices she could hear but there didn’t seem to be anyone responding to the voice swearing. She weighed her options, Bobbi had said she had free reign to the house, so it wasn’t as if she was doing anything  _ technically  _ wrong. Plus, she really wanted to know what was at the bottom of the staircase now. 

“Stupid piece of–” the voice cut it’s self off with a grunt followed by the sound of something metal being hit. Jemma peeked around the edge of the doorway and into a large room lit by an assortment of candles and – she had to bite her lip to stop herself from making a sound because she was fairly certain that was a rudimentary  _ light bulb  _ hanging over the work table in the middle of the room. The source of all the swearing came into view a few seconds later when Fitz dumped a collection of flattened metal circles onto the table with a huff, his back to her and the door.

Jemma took a small cautious step around the door, trying to get a better look inside the room while the Scot’s back was to her. She just wanted to see what was going on, then she could happily go back up the stairs, her curiosity filled (at least that’s what she was telling herself, despite knowing full well her curiosity was very rarely sated). But she must have made some kind of noise, or perhaps Fitz was just more attuned to his surroundings then Jemma had given him credit for, because one second he was looking down at his metal discs and the next he was turning around and staring right at her. 

For several long seconds the two of them merely stared at each other and then he took a half step forwards, mouth opening to say something as his brow furrowed, while she jumped in to break the silence first with the first thing to pop into her mind at the same time as he started to talk too.

"What are y–" 

“Your arm should still be in a sling!” 

That seemed to throw him off, a frown taking over his face as he looked at his arm, as if he’d forgotten it had ever been hurt. 

“It’s fine, barely even hurts,” he replied, but even as he said it, rolling his shoulder as if to prove the point a grimace crossed his face. Forgetting about her plans to flee back up the stairs, Jemma stepped more fully into the room and towards him, hands already reaching out to feel at his joint. 

“Just because it didn’t hurt when you woke up doesn’t mean it’s not still injured,” she tuttered as her fingers filtered across the fabric of his shirt to feel where his skin was swollen below. “Honestly! You’re lucky you’ve not dislocated it again with all this hammering you’ve been doing.” Jemma gestured vaguely towards the table. 

Until that point Fitz seemed to have forgotten that she had intruded on his work, his eyes narrowing at her in another frown. Shrugging her hands off his shoulder - despite the wince it resulted in - he crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down. 

“What are you doing down ‘ere?” 

“I um-” Jemma paused, one hand still hovering in the air while the other drifted to twirl a lock of her hair, only halting when she remembered it was tied up. “I was looking in the study, upstairs. There’s so many books, I was quite fascinated by some of the titles. And well, the bookcase. Or I suppose it’s technically a door, isn't it? It was open. And Bobbi, she said I could go where I wanted. I like to know things you see, so I… I came down the stairs.” She tried to look nonchalant about it all. As if her heart wasn’t beating at double speed. Not that she really thought Fitz was going to hurt her, but she also didn’t know this man at all. She didn’t know  _ any  _ of them, really. She certainly didn't know what she'd just walked in on.

“I thought I shut it behind me.” 

That wasn’t the response she had been expecting. Neither was the weary sigh he let out, or the hand he rubbed over his face. 

“Ya really shouldn’t be down ‘ere. It’s-” he fumbled for words, hands waving in the air around him, “Dangerous. And private.” 

That seemed like an understatement about it all. And if Jemma had been the one to pick the word she would have gone with ‘secret’ and it was only dangerous because he clearly had no idea about proper lab safety. 

“What are you making?” She asked, peering around him at the metal discs again. Something about them just seemed so familiar to her. 

“Tryin’ to fix the damn wheel on the cart. Bloody spokes keep comin’ loose,” he nodded to the other side of the room where Jemma could see two wheels leaning against the wall. That didn’t seem to be all he was doing down here, just from a glance around she could spot several other projects that seemed to be half complete along with all sorts of chemicals and tools she was more than itching to get a closer look at. But he's said it so easily and smoothly she didn't think it was a total lie either. 

“Perhaps I can help? Two pairs of hands are better than one injured pair,” she gave him her best smile - the one that had won her a place at Cambridge and convinced her parents she was perfectly fine to move to a new country all alone. It faltered for a moment as all Fitz did was stare at her, mouth slightly open before snapping shut and he blinked. 

“Fine," he muttered, not seeming _at all_ fine with the situation but unable to stop it either. But Jemma had never let that stop her before.

Part of her was sure Fitz had only agreed to her helping as a way to keep an eye on her anyway. But it wasn’t long before they were working seamlessly side by side, in a way that seemed to startled him as much as her. Bouncing ideas off each other in a way Jemma had never experienced before, and if the grin that had started to form on Fitz's face was any indication, neither had he. 

Jemma had never had a problem working alone before, in fact she would have claimed she much preferred it. No one else seemed to understand her organisational systems or be able to follow her train of thought as she worked out a problem. It was much easier to work alone, to not have to rely on another person to do part of the work and probably mess it up anyway. And yes, it was sometimes a little lonely, but she didn't mind. 

At least she _hadn't_ minded. Now she was wondering if maybe she was missing out on something. 

Working with Fitz - to fix a carts wheel, of all things - she suddenly realised why some people liked to work with a partner. It was... nice.

She handed him a hammer before he could even turn around to ask for it, he brought over a stool for her before it even occurred to her that sitting down would be better than standing when attempting to use the soldering tool he’d invented. 

They’d known each other all of two days - half of which she had been asleep and the other half they hadn’t even spoken - and _yet_ , they worked together as if they’d been doing it for years. Idly, as she gave a tug on the last spoke to check it didn’t move, Jemma wondered if he felt the same way. If he was as happily surprised at just how well they worked together as she was.

“Guess you were right. Two pairs are better than one,” he gave her a half smile, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Yes, well, I usually am. Right, I mean. Very rarely wrong,” she rambled, suddenly unsure what to do now there was no work between them. So she started walking around the room, her skirts brushing along the floor the only sound aside from the buzz of the light. She stopped next to the wall opposite the door way, eyes trailing along the labeled jars on shelves and the sketched drawings scattered on the table. 

“Canne ask you something?” 

She had to bite down to stop herself from groaning, what was it with these people and asking her if they could ask her something? But there was an odd note in his tone and Jemma turned around to face him, not realising he had followed her around the room and was now standing very close to her, so close she could smell the sweat on his skin and see the a slight scar on his forehead that was nearly hidden in his hairline. From this close she could even tell that his beard had an almost copper tint to it despite the brown of his hair and that he was staring at her in a way that said he could see all her secrets. Holding his gaze, Jemma straightened her spine, wet her dry lips (it didn't escape her notice how his eyes seemed to dart down at the action) and dipped her head once. 

“Of course.” 

“Are ya an English spy?”

Of all the things she had been expecting him to ask, that hadn’t been it and Jemma couldn’t help the surprised burst of laughter that left her mouth. Only for her to laugh again at the look of pure confusion that covered Fitz’s face. A spy! What an absurd question to ask her. Shaking her head and trying to regain control of herself, Jemma took a deep breath and looked back at Fitz with a smile.

“No, I’m not an English spy. Or a French one or- or one from the colonies. I’m not a spy at all, I promise.” 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued to look at her, eyes sweeping over her face as if trying to spot a tell. Whatever he seemed to find in her face answered his question as well as her words for he nodded once. 

“Right then,” he rubbed the back of his neck, and took a step back, as if just realising how close they were standing, the tips of his ears going pink. He seemed awfully flustered all of a sudden and Jemma had to bite her lip to stop her growing smile. “Bobbi and Coulson said ya probably weren’t. But I just wanted to make sure, ye ken? Because I could use your help on something I think."

There was so much in his words to unpack - it was nice to know the others didn't think her a spy - but her intrigue had once again been peaked and for the first time in her life Jemma really hated her need to know something. 

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for a further explanation. 

“Ya seem to know a lot about stuff like this, engineering and the like. So perhaps you can help me with this,” he walked over to the table in the middle of the room, the one under the light bulb (that she  _ must  _ remember to ask him about), and cleared a space to unroll a large piece of paper he had picked up from off the floor. 

Jemma frowned at it, cocking her head to the side as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. It was a design for a cylindrical object that looked shockingly like - no, that couldn’t be right. Jemma leaned in closer, trying to decipher his horrible handwriting around the edges of the design, the components needed to build it, the ingredients for what should go inside. She stood up straight again and turned to face Fitz, a quizzical look on her face. 

“Fitz, why are you trying to build a bomb?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's left comments and kudos yall are amazing and lovely!!
> 
> there was supposed to be more to this chapter but then i somehow spent 2k words on jemma having a bath and getting dressed - and that's with editing stuff out!? - so my original 8 chapters is looking more like 9 or 10. (but i also might do like, outtakes if anyones interested in that i guess??) but we shall see how it goes! 
> 
> and, as stated above, i'm taking some creative license with some inventions and technology, but fitz is a bit of a genius so there's nothing saying it _wouldn't_ discover electricity first yknow.
> 
> fun fact, i had to build the house in sims because i just couldn't work out the layout of the place.
> 
> anyway!!!  
> i hope you're all staying safe in these hard times.  
> hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are appreciated!! mwah xox  
> you can also find me on [tumblr](https://tangledstarlight.tumblr.com/)!


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